


Into the Silent Dark

by little_abyss



Series: Doom Upon All The World [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Banishment, Clan Politics, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Mage-Templar War, Pre-Game(s), Sadness Appreciation Society prompt, Silent Protagonist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 11:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12506516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: After Arteth's death, Frey Lavellan struggles with his grief, and with the blame that is placed upon him.  The Keeper makes a request: he must live with the consequences.For the Sadness Appreciation Society prompt:the silent treatment





	Into the Silent Dark

It’s been weeks, and still, he says nothing.  Silent, Frey hunts alone; he leaves before dawn every day, ranging further and further afield for meat for their ungrateful mouths.  Most days, he finds nothing. 

 

The fighting was closer last night.  Shemlen magic smells strange; stranger still the scent and prints the creatures that follow the mages leave.  Some of them look like men; many do not.  Great shards of red crystal protrude from their chests.  And  _ still _ , the Keeper bids them stay, because the shemlen village is still there, trade is still flowing… when every day the danger grows greater.

 

But Frey will not speak.  He knows what they think -- he does not care.   _ If you had cared for her, then she would not have died.  _  He hears the Keeper’s words again in the ear of his mind, and unconsciously, his lip rises in a sneer.   Words.  They can’t hurt him; he travels with Falon’Din now.  

 

Tonight, there are two fennec.  It’s not enough.  There are fifty people in the clan; mothers and children, other hunters.  Silently, Frey lays the little corpses on a skin next to the fire.  One of the women nods to him, her brow creased with concern, but he ignores her and rises, striding away, back toward the treeline.  However, before he quite makes it, he hears his name.

 

It is the Keeper.  Deshanna stands tall, her staff balanced on the step of the aravel from which she has emerged.  They regard each other for a moment, and then she speaks softly: “Hartha, to em son.  You wear the vallaslin of our People; you are bound by my words.”

Frey’s grip is tight on his bow and he grinds his teeth together, but still, says nothing.  

The Keeper watches him, her grey eyes dim, then draws her mouth into a line before continuing.  “Frey.  The shemlen are at war.  You know this.  They tear themselves apart, as they have for centuries.  One of their number wishes to make a peace -- she has called a meeting, a conclave at a place called the Temple of Sacred Ashes.  You will go as an emissary of our People.  Watch.  Learn.”  Silence for a moment, dead, still, and then, in a tone which will brook no argument, “Only return when you have learnt all you can of their intent.  Or… do not return at all.”

  
Unbidden, he draws a breath.  He is to become one of the  _ banal’varem _ ; banished from the aravel, into the dark.  His mouth opens slightly in shock, then he closes it again and nods to show he has understood.  The Keeper nods in return, then lifts her chin slightly, watching him, and he grits his teeth, knowing what he must do.  Frey shoulders his bow and turns, taking with him only the clothes on his back and his bow, ten arrows, his canteen, and his heart, hardening with hate.


End file.
